


The Cat That Looked At The Tsar

by UltraVioletSoul



Series: Porn With Feelings...? [1]
Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Reader-Insert, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Smut, Squick, crude smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraVioletSoul/pseuds/UltraVioletSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether you wanted it or not you were nothing more than his property— not a woman, not a human being who possessed freewill, but a thing made for his amusement— and you scorned him for as long as your pride allowed it.</p>
<p>[[ One-sided Vladimir Makarov x F!Reader ]] One-shot, crude smut. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat That Looked At The Tsar

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my attempt at experimenting with Vladimir's character and going out of my comfort zone for once. It's an AU in which Makarov succeeded and became the new ruler of Russia, leading the Inner Circle to power. The Inner Circle is a faction that, basically, seeks the return to Russia to an autocratic rule before the Communist era and wants to appoint Vladimir as the ruling Tsar. 
> 
> I got my inspiration from a fanart my friend Mandy drew and that I loved to pieces, and a few lovely one-shots she shared with me. 
> 
> I remind you, this work is not for people under the age of 18 or 21 as it contains sensitive subjects such as non-con and other forms of abuse. It's not a romance story, either but more like the outcome of a messed up relationship as you will get the chance to verify later. I warn you that this one is very explicit— and will certainly be the only piece with such degree of detail that I'll ever write.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Call of Duty Modern Warfare or its characters. They all belong to Activision and Infinity Ward.

It felt outlandish even when you lay in bed in silence, breathings slowly steadying and naked skins covered in perspiration. His long fingers played with your hair and yours treaded across his chest, tracing ghostly patterns to his shoulder and back. It was unusual for you to be this close and demonstrative after sex; it was not normal for him to stay, after he had his pleasure with you. As a rule, Vladimir would get up as soon as he was done and leave you to deal with a cold bed, and a night of loneliness ahead. Tonight, however, for a reason you could not fathom nor decidedly ask him, he was sharing the same bed as you and had no intention to leave.

His eyes were closed, though you knew he still was awake since his breathing had not slowed down. His face wore a relaxed expression that looked so out of place on him, even then, and you would have been lying if you said that this side of him did not scare you a little bit. Too accustomed to deal with his typical mood swings and rough treatment, you could not conceive that this man could actually behave this way with you, making love to you for the first time rather than fucking you raw, as he usually did.

Granted, you could say that your Anastasia had changed him a little over the years, as Vladimir seemed to have developed the ability to be lenient and even benevolent at times. Even you had to admit that your judgment on him had been a bit on the wrong, as he was not the mad dog killer you had believed him to be. Despite his infamous temperament and blood-chilling legendary cruelty, never once had he raised a hand against you— at least not with the intention to trigger pain in you. At times when you were not being particularly nice to him, and too much of a brat for his taste, he seemed to be indifferent and distant more than displeased, as though he knew he was dealing with a whimsical child that was to be ignored. Ignored until he felt the need to visit her at night, that is.

Your encounters had been brief and bellicose due to his brisk dominant approach and your unyielding attitude. You had never been keen on being his plaything and had always resented the fact that your father, Igor Fedorov— a powerful associate to Vladimir—, had given you away to the supreme leader of the Inner Circle as a measure to ensure his investment paid off handsomely. Even your mother did not seem to care, dismissing your desperate pleas as trivial, and did not even show sympathy for the tears of her only daughter, instead telling you to stop being a foolish child and find the way to wrap Vladimir around your little finger. However, you did not want to hear about it. You had refused to be his whore and you had no qualms to reject him in front of your parents, hoping to make them understand that you would not accept this unfair punishment. It was not until you and Vladimir were alone that you got a bitter taste of his humiliation, and that had only been the beginning of the confusing torture.

But you were determined to fight because you would not become like the others. You would not be buried under his demeaning words and belittling gazes. There was only one way you could manage to do so and you needed to show him that you were a worthy partner for him; that there was more you were capable of doing other than spreading for him. That would be a lie, though, since you had never been so willing for him— not in the beginning. If truth be told, there had never been romantic nights between you and him, even when a little more affection would have been welcomed. You had never experienced the tender and gentle lovemaking of a man after your first time with Dmitri Markov, the one your father had trusted and the one you had believed you would be promised to in marriage.

That had been before all hell broke loose and Dima was executed for a supposed treason to your family. You were not granted the time to mourn for your love, however, as you soon were given away to be the whore of Vladimir Makarov, a megalomaniac madman you despised. You had said this many times to his face, only to be slighted by his uncaring smirk and asked if that matter should be of his concern. Should it be? Whether you wanted it or not, you were nothing more than his property— not a woman, not a human being who possessed freewill, but a thing made for his amusement— and you scorned him for as long as your pride allowed it.

Sex had been no different; you were expected to submit, and allow him to have his way with you, while remaining compliant to his wishes. You knew very well that you might not have had a saying in your life anymore, but you were not willing to make it easy for him and surrender to him so readily. You first encounters had involved hair pulling, your clothes torn apart, bites, scratches and an irked Vladimir that more than once had forced you on all fours, or your stomach, to ride you as if you were nothing more than a bitch. Such a demeaning and humiliating position was this, and he seemed to be too fond of it, making your efforts to close your legs to keep him away futile. You could not fight back; if you thrashed the only thing you accomplished was pushing him deeper into you and you did not want him to think you were actually enjoying it. If you pushed forth, trying to break free, all he had to do was grabbing your hair and drag you to him. If you closed your legs it turned painful for you. If you spread them further apart you were giving him an invitation. With more chances to lose than win, you had to remain motionless like a rag doll, trying not to scream and pant or break down— lest he found out you were growing to enjoy it. Such was the mind of a woman that had been continuously exposed to his ways, until she got used to this kind of life.

You had thought your rebellious behavior in bed would keep him away but it only seemed to make an abnormal attraction grow within him, if his frequent and dreaded visits had been any indication of it. For some time, his sexual interest was focused on you as if he were a child fascinated with his new toy. It was either that or he took your refusal personal and wanted to make you lose your mind as payback. It all stopped, however, when it became clear you were with child and you grew terrified of his wrath once the doctor of the family let him know your condition. You knew of Vladimir's callous brutality and would not be surprised if he had you killing your baby. That moment never came, much to your surprise, and your pregnancy developed in peace without any sign of him showing up at your door to even check on you. You did not miss him, though, and you were relieved that, at least, he was not keen on bedding his women while they were pregnant with his children.

You soon found out that there were other women he sated his primal needs with and, for the time being, it was fine so long as he left you alone. But you began to loathe him for leaving you in this state, to deal with the apprehensive prospect of childbirth, as months passed and your belly grew bigger. You hated him for what he had done to you when the pains of labor woke you up a night of winter and you screamed for your old nanny to come to your rescue. You were deeply scared at that moment, for your baby had not been due until weeks later. You wailed and scratched the walls, begging for mercy, before you found yourself in a room surrounded by strangers as you felt all air leave your lungs. You hated him more than ever when your insides were ripped apart— and your entrails felt as if they were going to be dragged along with the baby. As a wave of nausea took over, your muscles cramped in unimaginable pain and your agonizing screams echoed in the halls of the Winter Palace, as your baby fought her way into this world. After long hours of extenuating labor, a small bawl replaced your cries and you could actually breathe in relief when it all was over.

“A baby girl.”

How could you describe the joy and love you felt when you saw your little one? She was so beautiful; she was part of you. You might have despised her father but you certainly adored her, from the first time she lay defenseless in your arms.

Vladimir never turned up if only to see his daughter. It was not until days later that he visited you, and deigned himself to stand by Anastasia’ crib, regarding his child with a look that softened just a bit as soon as his eyes were upon her. Your health did not seem to be important to him; he never bothered to ask if you were alright, but that suddenly fell to second place once he took the baby in his arms and you felt the little tug at your heart when you saw the approval in his bicolor eyes.

He had never been an affectionate man to you, and you had begun to wonder if he was capable of showing any warmth whatsoever. One of the rare moments you witnessed had been when his mother visited and he took her in his arms, the woman practically smooching both his cheeks. In disbelief, you saw him laugh with almost child-like contentment when he spoke to his dearest _Mamochka_ and there was nothing more shocking than that truth; the complexities of such an unpredictable man that, after all, had his own Achilles heel. This, you remembered as the one that had given you this precious gift paced about the bedroom, holding his child as the snow kept falling, heavily, outside.

He should have been the one to name your daughter but in his absence you had done it yourself, breaking the tradition he had held with the rest of his children. You were aware he could have done as he pleased and he, surely, knew about the attribution you had taken on without his consent. He was the power of Russia; why should he heed the orders of a nobody like you? This child was not even yours, despite your useless efforts to forget that truth. He was the Tsar of all the Russias; you were not even his consort. He could take your baby away from you if he wanted to see you suffer but, then again, he could leave you alone seeing as there were other pressing matters that left him no time to worry about a simple concubine like you. Unless you were plotting his death, then you did not see how he could think about you in a way that made you worthy of his attention and time other than sex. Yet, when you told him his daughter’s name he simply nodded in acknowledgment and, from that moment, assured you she would be known as Anastasia Vladimirovna Makarova, and bear the title of Grand Duchess of his house.

He gifted you with an impressive necklace of diamonds studded in platinum. It was a bit of a surprise to you, honestly; while he was said to offer presents to the mothers of his children, you were not sure if all of them were as sumptuous as this one. Even so, the beauty of the jewel did not provide warmth as it was put around your neck. It was cold, much like he was.

As you watched him doze off by your side, you thought about the decisions you had to make for your daughter and her future. You might have been to blame for being as ambitious as Vladimir was when you decided that Anastasia was to be his heir, no matter what. You could not bear the thought of your own child being exiled or, even worse, killed if another was made ruler of Russia when Makarov passed away. If there was one thing his deep-rooted obsession of ensuring his lineage survived had overlooked was the fact that this could very well be the end of everything he had built, over the years.

But you were determined not to lose. Brought up in an affluent family, you had been educated and influenced by your father’s interests in the world of politics. You had always been an avid reader, thoroughly enjoying books that had substance to them. You had always been encouraged to develop an independent thinking and you were not afraid to speak your mind. Proud like your father and vain like your mother, you knew you had been capricious when things were not done your way but that soon ended when Makarov entered your life— more like forced on it overnight. Still, beneath all that conceited disguise of self-importance, and childish narcissism of yours, there actually lay a clever and smart girl that blossomed into a mature woman, once her desires and dreams were for the little life that had been inside of her. You knew that your life truly was not yours anymore. It was not Vladimir’s, however. It was Anastasia’s; hers and only hers. Vladimir could have possessed your body but your daughter was certainly the owner of your heart and soul.

Had you accomplished what your mother asked once? No. You were under no illusions that you could manipulate him like that. Vladimir had no master; no restraints, no remorse and no mercy. He was a dangerous animal that knew no bounds. He could dearly love his mother but you were sure that, if the old woman ever betrayed him, he would not doubt to end her life. Love was a matter of loyalty and devotion, not adoration and affection. There was only so much he could reciprocate until the bonds were broken by treachery, and would have no qualms to strange himself from those he had called family once.

Could you really say you had earned his trust? Did you really convince him you were loyal to him? You could say that you knew him better than other women whom he had bedded did. You had taken the time to assess him, analyze him, to see which the way to his heart was. And you undoubtedly found a gap when, one night, you were allowed to share dinner with him and his counselors— many of them high rank generals of his elite protection squad— and their women, to introduce his newborn. Nobody could be bothered at the fact that many of those men had left their wives at home and brought their paramours along. Nobody could be bothered when the first Tsar in nearly a hundred years needed children to rebuild the glory of the Russian past. They were the key; the key to a reign that would last a thousand years.

Amid the mundane chitchat of the women who had gathered around you to admire the beauty of your baby girl and the gifts you had been showered with, while your nanny held Anastasia as a showcase, you overheard the most recent affairs concerning the Empire that was spreading like wild fire in the rest of the world. Losses were still too many to count and the bloodshed upon which Makarov was building this once forgotten regime nightmarish. The enemy overseas still posed a remarkable threat to Makarov and yet there were advantages that could be exploited with the neighboring countries that for, many years, had suffered and died beneath an abusive and wild capitalism. No one fought alone and, in your perspective, it was time to make new friends. There was always a way to buy the will of men; there always a price to it.

Your fingers caressed a nipple and Vladimir grunted, slightly shifting his body. His relaxed face contorted in a frown as his hand let go of your hair and plummeted against the mattress. What had been the price to buy your will? Being denied of your freedom? Having been betrayed by those who you had called family? A beautiful child that now occupied your thoughts and had your undying love?

Your leg rubbed against his and you allowed your hand to delve south, when his caught your wrist and you looked up to meet a pair of irritated eyes beneath puckered dark eyebrows. “What do you think you’re doing?” It was meant to be a demand more than a question but you had to muffle your laughter when all you could see, and feel, was a grouchy man whose member was hardening in your grasp.

“What? You’re going to tell me you don’t want me to?” You arched an eyebrow and squeezed him, just a bit, earning a deep grunt that reverberated in his throat. His hand still held your wrist but made no attempt to remove you, despite whatever refusal he claimed to be expressing.

“I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“Oh, is that so?" You tainted, feigning surprise. "And what about those times I wanted to sleep but you were too damn stubborn to let me get some rest?” You let go of him and crawled closer, half-lying on top of his body, kissing a stubbly cheek before letting your smirking lips linger on the juncture of his strong neck. “Or are you already getting old, dear Volodya?”

“Let me remind you, woman, that I’m not here for your entertainment.” Vladimir remained immobile, not even reciprocating your advances, as you settled fully against him, planting kisses on his chest and running your fingers on the length of his arms. He was warm and his skin still was slick with sweat, as well as yours, and the hard flesh between his legs pressed hotly against you. You were surprised by the control he showed when you ground your hips on his, hoping to elicit some kind of sensual response from him only to come off empty-handed. You pouted and he flashed something akin to a smug smile, as if telling you that you were done for the night. Why did he have to turn you down just when you were getting into it and willing to do more than a round of rowdy sex just when he felt like it? “Are you done with your petting?”

“Done?” You mocked with a frown. “You don’t know me, Vladimir.” You licked your lips and sat on his thighs, flashing your bare breasts to him as you wrapped your fingers around him once more. “You think you’re the only one who has tricks up his sleeve.”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do know you.” He grunted, narrowing his blue and green eyes at you with marked distrust. “You are such an annoying brat sometimes. There were times I wished I had educated you myself, since it seems your father never bothered to.”

You pretended to be hurt by his words, if only to play along. “Oh, you offend me. I'll have to disagree and say that my father _did_ educate me.” You laughed and shook your head, regarding him with delight. “But if my memory serves right, I wasn't raised to be the perfect lady for you, if that was your assumption.”

Just then, his eyes flickered with a spark of uncontrollable desire and his hands travelled to caress your trembling thighs, just when you thought you would have no reward. “I do never make assumptions of my rivals or the women I bed.” He spat and buried his fingers on your flesh, making you hiss in pain fleetingly; yet you chuckled, placing your hands on his. “I know you; you women are treacherous vixens. Turn your back on them for a moment and they become ungrateful bitches.”

Your eyes widened in insolent bewilderment. “Oh, and what did she try to kill you with? The dangerous deadly grip of climax? You would think she wasn’t asking for too much.” You were too used to the rough handling, perhaps, and it would not surprise you if there were bruises on your skin the next morning. "Did she at least have the chance to orgasm before you put her to death?"

He suddenly went silent, and his eyes stared deeply into you, scrutinizing for the longest of moments before suddenly nodding to his groin with a pleased expression. “Go on.”

That caught you off guard. Nearly forgetting what you were supposed to do, you fumbled for a second with your thoughts, too distracted by the sight of him casually lying in bed as you gave him a handjob. You were waiting for the moment he closed his eyes to make your move but he refused to do it. You resorted to brushing a thumb against the tip and he twitched, his breathing hitching in the back of his throat for a millisecond before you could have the chance to notice— but you did, nonetheless. Smiling in triumph, you repeated the action once more, slowly, drawing a strained groan from his lips as his neck tensed with his efforts not to lose control.

Vladimir had always been the one to have the upper hand; the one to always lead and dominate even the smallest of your movements on the silken sheets. Your mind could have told you that you could not possibly enjoy the touch of this man, but your body said otherwise and it made you want to die in embarrassment when it betrayed you, willingly opening up for him whenever he made you his. Your cries had not been from pain, as you could have expected, and yet you had rarely found the joy of release with him or, rather, he had rarely allowed you the much longed bliss of pleasure in his mercy. This was exactly what was happening to him and you were tempted to deny it to him, like he had done with you.

“ _Shh_. I’m not going to bite you.” You mumbled when he lightly jerked his hips away and glared at you in the haze of his own crescendo. His nostrils flared and he briefly closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together. He then had to grit his teeth, desperately trying not to give in to a frenzied state of animalistic ecstasy when the wet sensation of tightness enveloped him, slow and gently. His eyes opened, his vision blurred, and the muscles of his legs shuddered and painfully stiffened at the feeling of your hair sprawled all over his groin. At the feeling of your mouth doing unnamed wonders to him; wonders you would have denied him before.

Your soft hums made him almost desperate to pull your hair and thrust his hips upwards, with burning need, but he held back. Still, Vladimir soon had his hands on either side of your head, not intent on taking your mouth wildly but desirous to put your tresses out of the way so he could see you in full detail. Such an arresting sight was the one he found, your tongue sliding up his length and your eyes meeting his, defiant and smug, as if tainting and challenging him to stop you. You gave him no rest and just when he believed he would find release, you pulled away and with a grin of mischief. He was nearly breathless by that point but, even then, the glare would not fade from his face. He knew what you were up to and was not about to do it your way. He was too proud to beg you; a man like him never did such a thing. He was used to take what he wanted when he wanted it; you were no exception. And if he could not make you understand, then he was going to make you feel it again and again until your weary body gave up and could not fight him. He had done it before. You might have said you did not like it but you both knew it was not truth. Perhaps you enjoyed provoking him, aggravating him in such an exasperating way that was too daring for your own good.

He should have grabbed you and shoved your face on his groin. He would have done it, had it been another woman but this was (Name) Fedorova. She always had to have things done her way, even when it would get her in trouble with him. Even when there were times he was about to lose his composure, and times when he did it, never once had you backed off— as though he was only a kid throwing a tantrum. You would only remain silent and watch him with unnerving reserve while he cursed his luck. Those were the times he had wanted to put his hands around that pretty neck of yours and smother, like he did with that ungrateful bitch that betrayed him once. But, then, he was overpowered by growing lust and the need to feel your hot and drenched skin against his. Vladimir honestly did not know what to make of this anymore and it made him feel uneasy, yet a part of him wanted to give in.

You would not go anywhere; you would not betray him, so long as your daughter bound you to him. You had vision; you had ambition. You wanted the world for Anastasia and you knew he was the only one who could give it to her. You had planned the conquest with him and you were helping him move the pieces on the chessboard. He was pleased with the outcomes and the wise choices you suggested in private, becoming a diplomatic asset and taking care of raising his once declining number of friends, with your shrewd tongue and lovely company. More than once he had been told what a charming and witty addition to his life he had chosen to make. There was no doubt you were the Queen, if only metaphorically speaking. You could be dangerous; you could be merciless. You were his eyes and ears, revealing enemies, picking up minor details spilled by careless and imprudent women, who never knew they had just given the lives of their husbands and lovers away, until it was too late.

“Too proud to implore for mercy, Vladimir the Great?” Your teeth grazed your bottom lip with a cheeky smile and he growled, already fed up of your games. You certainly were enjoying his reluctant stress and he only wanted to turn the tables against you. “My, my. If only you could look at your face now. Thank heavens looks can’t kill, otherwise I would be six feet under.”

“That would be too easy.” He allowed himself to relax for a moment, drawing breath after breath, hoping to get his heartbeat back to normal. Before he could think of a way to get back at you, that is. “You know me better than that.”

“That I do, Volodya. I know you better than anyone.” You crawled with a playful air towards him, and sat on his hips, his promise for truce lost the moment your nude body was presented to him with the allure of a woman that had blossomed, both in beauty and acumen. He had never bothered to cast a second glance at you in your graceless teenage years, until your father forced you to be his mistress. A wild cat you had been then but, like any tabby, you found it harder to bite and claw if held by the scruff.

“Do you, now, _koshka_?” Vladimir arched an eyebrow, expression stoic as ever though voice hinting a bit of amusement. You wriggled your hips against him, his hands itching to grab your waist and bury himself in you. You felt unbearably wet, you skin was burning. You were aroused and ready for him but his muscles would not move. His pride could not be crushed even at the imminence of your voracious thirst, when you supported yourself on your knees and reached for him between your legs. [1]

“I have done my homework, _miliy_.” You left him no time to answer, and he hissed at the overwhelming sensation that assaulted him without warning. You had caught him off guard, your slick muscles taking him in slowly inch by inch. Your eyebrows arched in wonder and joy and you closed your eyes, opening your mouth in a silent cry of glee. You only allowed yourself to heave a sigh of relish, smiling before placing your hands on his chest as you set an unhurried, almost casual, pace. “Have you done yours?” Panting, you clenched making him grit his teeth and growl, before he gave you a stony look. Not satisfied with his reaction you tightened again, gasping at the sensation of him inside, as your fingers scratched his chest. Still, he refused to give in completely and be at your mercy. You were the one supposed to please him, not the other way round. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” [2]

His gaze met yours, impassive and apathetic. You almost huffed in annoyance when he still remained indifferent to your seductive approach. One of the few times you actually wanted to be intimate with him and he did not even put a little effort to make it pleasant for both. You were about to give up and tell him to get out of your bedroom, when his hands took a sudden hold of your hips and slid down the smoothness of your thighs on each side of him. His pale eyes regarded you with a scrutinizing look, lips set in a tight line that seemed to be shatterproof. His breathing came off harsh while his fingers glided up to the curve of your waist, his thumbs barely grazing the underside of your breasts. But the apparent romantic display would soon come to an end when you were ruthlessly ground against him, causing a startled shriek to leave your lips as you felt him filling you completely with unrestrained desire.

“Ride me good before I lose my patience with you.” He whispered in an unexpectedly deep voice, eyes burning with an insane flare of longing that you had finally managed to spark to life again. You needed not be told more. You needed not be given more encouragement than that. All you had to do was rhythmically move against him and feel the heat rise in your bodies that had given in to shameless wanton. Lost in the frenzy of such a sinful act of immoderate crave for pleasure, you felt the very winds of lust tossing you back and forth, promising release and then taking that hope away from you. You wanted to scream in frustration when your crotch tingled with that familiar feeling of decadence as your clit rubbed on his pubic bone yet, like the waves of the sea, they would retreat and only leave a teasing solace.

His eyes were mesmerized, fixed on the spot where your fleshes joined, watching with curious but assiduous concentration. It was not the first time he watched himself fucking a woman but the sight of you being in such delirious gratification, your moist slit spread and taking him whole, hearing your moans and whimpers as you swayed with hedonistic abandon, had him almost on the edge of coming. Your willing body, your glistening and flushed skin and your worship for him, threatened to push him towards the abyss of a feeling he had been trying to avoid for a long time.

He was fond of you, had grown attached to you over the years and it had not been until you tore out a last cry of joy in your peak that he allowed himself to realize this truth. Vladimir had taken in this too late, however, but that did not really matter anymore when he felt himself spilling inside of you, groaning loudly as he gripped your thighs. His sight blacked out for a few seconds before you slumped over him with a contented sigh. Still inside of you, he softened quickly and you buried your face on the crook of his neck, chuckling before pecking his cheek.

You remained silent once more and he again started to play with your hair. It was not long before he caught the soft cadence of your breathing and knew you to be fast asleep. Carefully, he disentangled himself from you and swiftly got dressed in last night's clothes. He would need a shower before going to sleep but he very much preferred the privacy of his own bedchamber; he could not afford to waste more time in games with you. Throwing a last glance at you, before he quietly closed the door behind him, you still were sound asleep shifting just a bit to bring the coverlet closer to your now cold skin.

That was all he could ever leave to you.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[1] _Koshka_. A she-cat. I’m not an expert in Russian but I have read that it can be used as an affectionate name for women, even though some don’t like it.

[2] _Miliy_. Dear; darling.


End file.
